


sand in your mouth it tastes like fire

by aberysywyth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Minor Gun Violence, Minor Violence, Necromancy, Resurrection, Wild West, Wild Wild West baby, this should be interesting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aberysywyth/pseuds/aberysywyth
Summary: “You,” he breathes, meeting Akaashi’s level gaze, and Akaashi feels the air go out of his lungs at the sight of the golden eyes staring back at him. “I like you.”Akaashi forces his expression into something calm, even as he continues to meet Golden-Eye’s molten gaze. And Christ, Kuroo wasn’t kidding about his magic- Akaashi can practically feel the warm waves of power rolling off of him like water. It’s overwhelming. Akaashi lets a little bit of his own power show through, ignoring how the sharpshooters' features shift into something delighted.“You don’t even know me, Bokuto-san.”tldr: Necromancy is dangerous, but supernatural beings catching feelings is worse
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 23





	1. Sunrise

Akaashi Keiji stands over his friend's dead body and sighs. 

This is not the first time Oikawa Tooru has died. Nor is it the first time Akaashi has been given the task of resurrecting him.

In this instance, there’s a bullet wound straight through his chest and a faint smile resting on Oikawa cold lips, perfect hair untouched despite the thick swarm of flies that surround his head. He is certainly dead; most likely the result of a duel gone wrong, Akaashi assumes, though he knows this was no accident.

Next to him, Iwaizumi Hajime, the deputy of Aoba Valley, scowls, crossing his arms. 

The desert sun beats down on their covered heads as Iwaizumi says, “I’m assuming you can revive him?”

He shifts his cloak on his shoulders, shivering despite the warm afternoon air. “Of course I can, Iwaizumi-san. But I’m thinking about keeping him dead for a little while so he can learn his lesson.” Iwaizumi chuckles at that. “He needs to figure out that dying isn’t the only way to garner your attention.”

Iwaizumi’s neck reddens softly as he scoffs. Akaashi kneels, pulling the bullet out of Oikawa’s chest with a firm tug. He inspects it for a moment before passing it to the Deputy.

“One of Ushijima-san’s, by the look of it.” Next to him, Iwaizumi hums with displeasure. 

“Oikawa challenged him the other day, but said he wouldn’t go.” Above them, a vulture circles. “Evidently he was lying.”

“You need to keep a closer eye on him, Iwaizumi-san. His lifeforce can only sustain dying a few more times.” Iwaizumi swallows, eyes trailing over Oikawa’s face.

“I will,” he promises, though Akaashi knows it’s not one he can keep, “we should probably wake him up now.”

Akaashi sighs once more before he places his hands on Oikawa’s chest. It’s cold, still with the grasp of death, but there is still something there, almost like a heartbeat that pulses through Oikawa’s chest. Akaashi reaches out with his magic, grasps at the thread in his friend's chest, and yanks.

Oikawa jerks up with a gasp, pushing Akaashi’s hands off of his abdomen. He barely has time to recover before Iwaizumi slaps him across the mouth. _Hard._

Akaashi chuckles. 

“You _asshole_ ,” Iwaizumi hisses, dark eyes alight. Akaashi has always assumed the Deputy has a little magic, at the least, and, gazing into Iwaizumi’s fury-filled eyes, he is more sure than ever. “You said you wouldn’t go.”

Oikawa must be much braver than Akaashi thought, because he pouts at the Deputy as he rubs his bruised cheek. “Ushiwaka called the Seijoh Clan _weak_ , Iwa-chan. Frankly it was an offence I couldn’t excuse.” There’s a little bit of bitterness behind his words.

Iwaizumi looks like he’s about five seconds away from murdering Oikawa on the spot. Akaashi clears his throat as he stands.

“In all seriousness, Oikawa-san, I’d say you can only die about two more times before you _stay_ dead, even with my help. Don’t let it happen again.” 

Oikawa shifts, staring at the vast expanse of the sky in front of him. Akaashi can detect something like regret behind his eyes. “I know. I won’t” They both know he’s lying. Oikawa has alway been about protecting the Seijoh Clan, “being the best,” whatever. The threat of death would not stop him from that.

Iwaizumi leans down, pulling Oikawa into his arms. He goes willingly, the softest hint of longing stumbling across his features. 

Iwaizumi looks almost sad as he murmurs, “Come on, dumbass. Let’s go into town before the vultures can finish you off.” 

Akaashi watches them disappear towards Karasuno without another word, grimacing as a cloud covers the sun and the temperature drops. He needs a drink, desperately. And maybe a blanket.

The air shifts to something cool as he walks towards the Cats and Crows Tavern. It's a calm, almost magical sort of still that always follows the death and subsequent resurrection of one in the town. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi, one of the resident sharpshooters and the most recent killer of Oikawa, nods at Akaashi as he passes. There’s a little bit of anger in his eyes, most likely at the sight of a very alive Oikawa, but he knows any attempt to hurt Akaashi would result in his own death. One at Akaashi’s hands. 

The rest of the walk is uninterrupted.

The crowd of the Cats and Crows silences briefly as he pushes the door in, only Kuroo’s loud laugh breaking the startling quiet. The quiet shifts to murmurs as soon as Akaashi crosses the threshold.

“Akaashi!” Kuroo calls, grinning as he approaches the counter. “How’s Oikawa? I heard he lost another duel.” 

“He is no longer dead, if that’s what you’re asking.” Akaashi says wryly. Kuroo hands him a drink, which he downs, scowling. “Ushijima-san needs to stop killing him every other week, otherwise he’s going to _actually kill him_.” Kuroo guffaws loudly at that, earning annoyed stares from a few of his patrons.

“You know, I would probably benefit from having him out of the picture,” he says, tilting his head, laughter in his eyes, “but I like him. He's got _flavor_.” It’s Akaashi’s turn to laugh. 

“Indeed,” is his only reply as he tips back another shot. There is a pause in the music and Kenma, the pianist, appears next to Akaashi with a nod.

“Have you told him, Kuro?” The blonde asks, sipping slowly at his gin. 

Kuroo shakes his head in response, smiling. “There’s another duelist headed into town, apparently. They call him Golden-Eyes. I call him a pain in my ass.”

“So I’ve heard. You’ve met him before?”

“Oh, sure.” Kuroo drawls. “We used to be best buds before he disappeared off the face of the Earth.” 

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “And why is he coming here?” Karasuno is populous, sure, but it certainly isn’t anything to write home about.

“Rumor has it,” Kenma interjects, “that he and his gang are going to challenge the Miya Twin’s Clan. And they’re using Karasuno as a meeting place, of sorts.” Now, there’s a surprise. The Twin Killers, as the Miyas were called, were infamous across the land for brutally dismantling gangs left and right. It would be a miracle if the Golden-Eyed sharpshooter lasts for more than a week.  
Akaashi says as much, snorting. “He won’t last a week.”

Kuroo shrugs, wordlessly passing him another drink. “He’s strong, magic-wise, from what I’ve heard. And apparently he has one hell of a clan.”

“Like that’ll stop the Miyas.” They’re nice enough on their own, Akaashi supposes. He’s met Atsumu, the elder one, before, and besides the odd, distinctly _off_ feeling he radiated there was nothing wrong with him. But Akaashi’s seen the sheer trail of carnage left behind after one of their raids. He doesn’t ever want to see it again. 

“When is he supposed to get here?”

“Any day, now. And the Miyas aren’t far behind.”

“Fantastic. More dead bodies for me to worry about.” Akaashi scowls, picking at the dulled wood of the bar. There’s a warm hand on his shoulder and he turns, meeting Iwaizumi’s gaze. He had been so emerged in self pity he hadn’t noticed the Deputy enter. And, judging by Kenma’s flinch, he hadn’t either. 

Iwaizumi is panting slightly, eyes wild and clothes mussed, and Akaashi wonders vaguely if he and Oikawa finally got together. 

“How’s Tooru, Iwaizumi?” Kuroo asks, sliding a drink across the bar. He seems to be wondering the same thing, an amused glint in his eye. 

“He’s fine,” Iwaizumi says shortly, tipping the drink back, face flushing, “but he’s not the problem. Golden-Eyes is here.” Kuroo’s gaze shoots to him, eyes alert. 

“Are you joking?” He hisses, clearly annoyed. “I was supposed to get another order of moonshine, but the guy I ordered it from won’t step a mile near Bokuto. Goddamn.” Iwaizumi laughs at that, but none of the tension disappears from his shoulders.

“He’s in Johzenji-” a small town bordering the much larger Karasuno, “-but he’ll be arriving within the hour.”

“And the Miyas?” Akaashi cuts in, gripping the edges of his cup. They’re the ones he’s really worried about.

“Still in their camp. But if what Oikawa says is true they’ll be here by the week after.” Akaashi lets out a string of expletives, and Kuroo does the same, muttering something about _ruining his fucking business, all these goddamn thugs._

Akaashi rises, shaking off Iwaizumi’s hand as he clasps his cloak around his shoulders. “I need to prepare for the inevitable wave of deaths,” he grumbles, tipping the last of his whiskey into his mouth with a grimace. “I’ll bring some healing herbs up in a day or two.” Those assembled nod their goodbyes, and Akaashi makes his way towards the exit, brow furrowed in frustration.

He’s so consumed in his thoughts of preparation that he doesn’t notice the sudden hush that spreads through the tavern like wildfire. Nor does he notice that he’s about to faceplant directly into someone’s chest. 

“Hey hey hey,” the man in front of him says, the deep timber of his voice rolling through Akaashi like thunder. He grasps Akaashi’s shoulders with warm hands, effectively preventing him from eating the floor of the tavern. “You better watch where you’re going, Necromancer-kun.”

Akaashi’s eyes catch the numerous holsters that litter the man’s waist as he steadies himself. He has no less than four pistols, _four,_ strapped to his elaborate belt. They’re all the same kind. _That seems excessive_ , Akaashi thinks to himself, scowling ferociously. 

The man in front of him tips his head back and laughs, a loud, full-bodied sound, and Akaashi gets a good look at his face. He’s handsome, with loud, exaggerated features that match the sound coming out of him. He’s dressed like every other outlaw Akaashi has ever seen: offwhite shirt, leather pants, leather boots, and scuffed gloves. But the most outlandish thing about him is his hair, made of black and white spikes that rise about three inches off his head. 

“You,” he breathes, meeting Akaashi’s level gaze, and Akaashi feels the air go out of his lungs at the sight of the golden eyes staring back at him. “I like you.” 

Akaashi forces his expression into something calm, even as he continues to meet Golden-Eye’s molten gaze. And Christ, Kuroo wasn’t kidding about his magic- Akaashi can practically feel the warm waves of power rolling off of him like water. It’s overwhelming. Akaashi lets a little bit of his own power show through, ignoring how the sharpshooters' features shift into something delighted. 

“You don’t even know me, Bokuto-san.” He drawls boredly. Bokuto’s hands slack on Akaashi’s shoulders as his mouth falls neatly open in surprise. Akaashi pushes past him without a word, and, behind him, the music in the tavern starts again, as if it had never stopped.

  
  



	2. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi sparks a deal, and someone gets shot.

When Akaashi wakes from dreams of golden eyes and stars shooting across the sky there is a crow perched outside his two-story townhouse.

He points his revolver at it. 

This is no ordinary bird, Akaashi knows. He has been living in the desert for sixty-some years and has never seen one of its color, the brilliant ochre of its eyes. 

It tilts his head at him, gaze almost curious. 

He fires.

The crow squawks, narrowly avoiding the first of Akaashi’s bullets. He shoots again, this time hitting his mark, and watches as the bird transforms, slowly at first, then rapidly, before he drops out of the sky in a heap of very human limbs. Akaashi follows him, dropping out of his window with little more than a rustle of air.

The shapeshifter is bleeding from his arm, eyes wide as Akaashi stands over him. Akaashi’s next words are delayed as he takes in the stunning orange mass of his hair. Does everyone in these gangs have weird hair? He shakes it off.

“It’s awfully rude to spy on someone you don’t know.” Akaashi says, noting the small pistol on the shapeshifter’s hip. He crosses his arms. “I’m assuming Bokuto-san sent you? Or maybe one of the Miyas?”

If possible, the shapeshifter’s eyes widen more. “Wahh- how did you know?”

Akaashi has to resist the temptation to roll his eyes. “Necromancers are always in high demand before a fight. I expected them to contact me at some point.” Akaashi peers at the bullet wound in the man’s arm, sighing. “I’ll fix that for you if you come inside.”

The man rises, his own thick cloak of ebony feathers falling neatly over his pistol. Ah, right. That. “Leave the gun outside, please.” 

Shapeshifer-san pulls the pistol off his holster and tosses it next to Akaashi’s door with a grumble, following Akaashi inside. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Akaashi asks as they enter. The man is too busy surveying Akaashi’s herb covered walls to answer until Akaashi fixes him with a glare.

“Ah, Hinata Shoyo!” He says. “And yours?”

Akaashi hums as he pulls bandages out from a cupboard in his kitchen. “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”

Hinata has the decency to look embarrassed. “Yeah, Bokuto told me. But I figured I might as well ask, Akaashi-san.” Akaashi’s features soften a little bit.

“That would be nice of you if you weren’t spying on me, Hinata-san.” He winces as Akaashi pulls out the bullet in his arm. 

“Well, Bokuto needed to know if the Miyas had already employed you.”

“They haven’t. And if rumor is correct, they won’t need to. If Kita-san is in their gang they’ll have a magnificent healer already.”

“Wah- but you’re so powerful Akaashi-san!” He chuckles. Akaashi is actually starting to like him.

“Have you and Bokuto-san been keeping an eye on me?”

Hinata looks sly as he answers, “Bokuto asked around after he saw you last night. He talked to Iwaizumi-san.”

Of course. If anyone would sing his praises it would be Iwaizumi. After all, Akaashi has resurrected Oikawa more times than he can count.

He sighs as he finishes the wrappings on Hinata’s arm. “If Bokuto-san wants me to help him he’ll have to ask me himself. I don’t make deals with errand boys.” 

The shapeshifter pouts at him, shifting in his seat. “I’m not an errand boy! That’s Tsukki’s job!” 

Akaashi hums amusedly. “Whatever you say, Hinata-san. Now go and tell Bokuto-san what I told you.” The shapeshifter rises, pulling the cloak more firmly around his shoulders. “And next time, just knock. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

Hinata stares up at him with bright eyes. “Thank you, Akaashi-san!” Is all he says before he shifts, cloak melding to him until he’s nothing more than a small crow perched on Akaashi’s chair. Then he stretches his wings and flies out of Akaashi’s window, leaving behind only a single feather. 

Well. That was odd. Akaashi sighs as he cleans up the blood on his floors. Though it did provide a good distraction from the mountain of work ahead of him. 

As the sun crosses the sky he busies himself with gathering and drying herbs from his garden, pinning them to the already covered walls of his house. 

It’s dark before he pauses, snapped out of his work-induced stupor by a loud knock on his door. He scowls at it. 

There’s only a few people it could be. 

The first is Suga, the angel who lives next door and occasionally brings Akaashi baked goods. That’s the best option. 

The next best option is a solid tie between Kuroo and someone carrying a dead body. Both equally annoying. 

And the third-

Akaashi opens the door and his scowl only deepens. 

“You’re here sooner than I thought you would be, Bokuto-san.” He grumbles, letting the sharpshooter inside. Bokuto laughs, sound deafening in the silence of Akaashi’s house. 

“Shoyo said if we needed your help we could knock,” he says, a glint in his eye. “At least I wasn’t spying on you.”

“Hmm. You’re lucky I don’t shoot you too.” Akaashi says, and Bokuto’s entire demeanor shifts.

“Yeah, what was that about? Shoyo’s the nicest person I know and you still shot him.” Akaashi watches, mildly fascinated, as the sharpshooter almost wilts, giving Akaashi the most pitiful stare he’s ever received. Akaashi cracks an unwilling smile.

“I don’t take lightly to people spying on me, Bokuto-san. Even if they’re as cheerful as Hinata-san.” He hums, gesturing for Bokuto to sit on his couch. “Besides, I shot him  _ before _ I talked to him.” That does nothing to reduce the sharpshooter’s pout. 

“I guess,” he murmurs, dejected, “still. But that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about.” He straightens, peering around the couch to where Akaashi is fetching a teapot. “I need your help.”

“Oh?” Akaashi says, completely unsurprised. “That’s very surprising.” Bokuto doesn’t seem to catch the hint of sarcasm in his voice as he perks up, and Akaashi wonders vaguely how he got an entire gang of people to follow him. 

“I’m not trying to solicit you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I want you to train me.” This time, Akaashi is actually surprised at the words. He walks around the couch and hands Bokuto a mug.

“In what, Bokuto-san?”

The sharpshooter hums, sipping on his tea. “My magic is crude, at the moment.” He says. “I wasn’t trained whatsoever, and even I know that crude magic and guns on their own can’t beat the Miyas. But  _ you _ , on the other hand,” he fixes Akaashi with his magnificent stare, power practically radiating off of him, “I could feel your magic, but comparing it to mine would be like comparing mud to water. I want what you have. Control.” Akaashi is stunned into silence. Perhaps he underestimated Bokuto, if he was able to deduce that much on his own. 

“When I met you last night,” Akaashi says after a beat of quiet, “your power was overwhelming. It was distinct. I’d imagine that your raw magic is quite powerful on its own, Bokuto-san.” He looks frustrated at the words. 

“I talked to Tsukishima, our only other magician. He says that I’d be able to release one big blast of power, but that’s it. I’ve seen what he can do, Akaashi. I want to be able to do that too.”

Akaashi feels a little helpless as he responds, “Have you asked Tsukishima-san to teach you, then?”

“His magic is different from mine. Yours feels more like mine, so I was thinking they’d be more similar?” Bokuto shakes his head, frowning softly. “Yours just feels more  _ right _ .”

A bit of a blush skates across the back of Akaashi’s neck. His magic feels more  _ right. _ Sure. 

He coughs into his hand, and Bokuto watches him, unaware of Akaashi’s internal struggle. “I’m a necromancer, Bokuto-san. You are most certainly not. Necromancy is different from every other type of magic.” But he knows what his decision is. He’s just trying to draw out the inevitable.

“Please, Akaashi. The Miyas will roll through me if I can’t control my magic.” He fixes Akaashi with a pleading look, and Akaashi pulls at his fingers in an attempt to curb his anxiety.

“Why can’t you just leave, Bokuto-san? They’re obviously more powerful, why go into that fight if it’s one you can’t win?” 

Bokuto leans forward, and Akaashi finds himself drowning in his golden gaze. “They’re the ones who took me in the first place. I figured it’s time I repay the favor.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Akaashi opens his mouth, a  _ no _ on his lips. But then Bokuto’s gaze shifts, into something almost amused, and-

_ Don’t you want to see what he can do? _ A voice whispers in the back of his mind.  _ Don’t you want to see him take on the world and win? Don’t you want to say that it was you who helped him do it? _ Doesn’t he? 

Akaashi swallows, mouth dry. Maybe he does want to see what Bokuto can do with his overwhelming power. He sighs.

Akaashi’s voice is little more than a murmur as he says, “Be here Sunday at noon.” And that’s when it begins. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teehee


	3. Midday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi has a chat with Kuroo; enter Bokuto.

When Akaashi tells Kuroo about the situation the following morning, the bartender doesn’t stop laughing until Akaashi hits him. 

“Stop it.” He says, nails digging into the dark wood of the bar. “It’s not funny. I was tricked.” 

Kuroo rolls his eyes, rubbing where Akaashi hit him on the shoulder. It’s dark, in the tavern, and the few people that occupy the bar look are either asleep or incredibly hungover. 

Kuroo, grinning, gives Akaashi an amused look when he says, “You weren’t tricked, Akaashi. You were _seduced_.”

Akaashi can feel his mouth drop open, and Kuroo’s loud laughing begins anew. He garners a few stares from the patrons as he gives Kuroo a vulgar gesture, fuming. 

“I was not _seduced_ , Kuroo-san.” He hisses, face burning. “I am not _fourteen_.”

“He’s a handsome man, Akaashi, I don’t blame you.” Akaashi hits him again, ignoring Kuroo’s pained grumble as he down his whisky in one go.

“Where’s Kenma-san?” He frowns, peering behind the bar. “Maybe he’ll actually help me.” 

Kuroo chuckles, wincing as he rubs the budding bruise on his head. “He went to go talk with Shoyo. They became _friends,_ surprisingly.” Hinata is probably the only person who could become friends with Kenma that quickly, Akaashi thinks. 

He scowls, eyes dark. “It seems like Bokuto-san and his gang have made friends awfully quickly.” 

“Are you actually worried, I-don’t-have-feelings-san?” Kuroo asks, smiling. He manages to dodge Akaashi’s answering swat, leaning against the back of the bar. “Bo’s a good guy, Akaashi. He’s not going to try anything.” Akaashi isn’t convinced. 

“I may have agreed to help him, Kuroo-san, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be suspicious of his motives.” Especially since he heard that voice in his head. 

Kuroo shrugs, looking unbothered. There’s a moment of silence between them, then Kuroo’s dark eyes jump to the door, features turning delighted. 

He smirks, clicking his tongue, “Ah, your lover approaches. Hey, Bo! How goes things?” Akaashi has to resist a groan as he spots a flash of black and white hair. He buries himself in his glass, frowning at the dark wood of the bar as Bokuto saunters over, grinning. 

“Hey hey hey, guys! I knew I’d find you here.” Kuroo shoots Akaashi a knowing look before he gestures for the sharpshooter to sit.

“I work here, Bo. Akaashi was just fueling his alcoholism.”

“I can’t get drunk, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi drawls, regretting his life decisions as Bokuto throws an arm over his shoulders, “but I wish I could.” He feels his neck redden as Bokuto bumps their heads together. “You’re awfully touchy today, Bokuto-san. Didn’t we meet only three days ago?”

Bokuto laughs, breath warm on Akaashi’s cheek. “I’m just happy you agreed to help me! After all,” Bokuto leans forward, meeting Akaashi’s gaze, and he tries to school his expression into something bored, “I figured it would be way harder than that! Like, I thought I would have to pay you or sacrifice something!” 

Akaashi furrows his eyebrows, temples throbbing. “Sacrifice something?”

“Okay!” Kuroo interrupts, before Akaashi can draw his revolver, “Do you want a drink, Bo?”

Bokuto laughs. “No, I’m not a day-drinker, unlike Akaashi, apparently.” 

“It’s not day drinking if you can’t get drunk, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi says, the beginnings of a headache pulsing at the front of his head. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for your duel?”

Bokuto huffs, pouting as Akaashi removes himself from under his arm. “Ah, there’s not a lot I can do, at the moment. I’m kinda waiting for you.”

Heat skates across the back of Akaashi’s neck. “So you came here under the assumption that I would teach you magic, and if I didn’t you would die.”

“Yeah!” Bokuto says, like it’s obvious. “I heard of this really good necromancer in Karasuno, and that was you! And you’re really good!” Bokuto beams at him, and Akaashi can’t conceal the brief hint of warmth that flashes across his features if he tries. God, he’s getting soft. Bokuto’s enthusiasm must be rubbing off on him. 

Akaashi forces his expression into one of neutrality. “That wasn’t the best plan, Bokuto-san.” 

Bokuto’s arm comes to wrap around Akaashi’s shoulders once more. “Tsukishima told me to plan better but he’s too slow!” Bokuto whines, arm tightening. Akaashi finds himself leaning into the warmth, internally hating himself as he does. Kuroo’s eyes follow the movement, a glint behind them. “But,” Bokuto says, knocking Akaashi and Kuroo out of their silent staring contest, “I run the gang, so I make the plans.” His voice is filled with smugness.

“I bet you do, Bo.” Kuroo hums, sounding, somehow, even more smug than Bokuto. Akaashi shoots him a withering glare, scowl growing at Kuroo’s muffled cough of _whipped_.

“Well,” Akaashi says, “if you want to come help me with my herbs, we can get a head start on our training, Bokuto-san.” Both the sharpshooter and bartender perk up at that, the former with a beam, the latter with a smirk. “So you don’t have to wait any longer.” 

There’s a moment of silence before Akaashi steals a glance at the sharpshooter. Bokuto looks like Christmas came early, eyes alight with thinly veiled glee. Without any warning, he leans forward and crushes Akaashi in a hug, arms wrapping neatly around his waist. Akaashi is nearly lifted out of his seat, face burning as the hug continues, but he hesitantly wraps his arms around the sharpshooter's shoulders, soaking in how _warm_ the sharpshooter’s arms around his waist are.

Kuroo grins at him, amusementin his dark gaze. Akaashi pulls his hand from Bokuto’s shoulder and flips him off. 

He lets the hug continue for a count of three before he squirms out of Bokuto’s touch, neck red. Bokuto gives him a curious look.

He coughs into his hand. “Well, if we’re going to start, let's go.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short break before we enter the *✧･ﾟ:* training montage *:･ﾟ✧*  
> thank you guys for all the lovely comments!! every single comment makes me so happy so thank you!!

**Author's Note:**

> hey all I am back! I finally decided to post this despite my brain telling me no so I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> any feedback is appreciated! all comments encourage me to keep writing so if you like it don't hesitate to comment it makes my day!! :)
> 
> thanks


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